This is a Story
by Charlotte Donahue
Summary: For this is a story, the story of the most beautiful summer.


**A/N: **

_Hello everyone; thank you for taking the time to read my story. Though the narrator may not be clear at first, you will understand the time period as the story goes on. This is the writing style of Ann Beattie in her short story "Snow," but I tweaked the style and made it my own. The plot is mine, except for any parts you recognize from JKR. "The Summer" is my idea. _

_Alternate Title: **That Summer** _

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This is a Story

Remember that summer, spent hidden away by the sea, in a nook that not even the birds could discover? It was our nook, complete with a little cottage right on the water; it was you, me, and the seals that roamed the coast.

That summer. That summer, when the sun shone longer and there was no night; that summer, when the sky stayed blue and the sea sparkled diamonds; that summer, when the wind kissed our faces and we danced with the moon.

That's the summer I remember. Do you?

We were young. Young, however, did not mean carefree. For it was a dark world and people were dying--dying for no reason, and yet at the same time, for all the reason in the world. Those close to us disappeared; some were hidden, some were buried, others just vanished. And we were slowly breaking. But that summer…

That summer was love. That summer was the most beautiful of seasons. It was the only time I could truly start to laugh without feeling guilt; it was the only time I did not see the shadows and ghosts lurking behind the eyes of my people.

We escaped, you and I, for that brief summer, attempting to leave all the baggage behind. We nearly succeeded. We _would_ have succeeded—except we possessed loyalty and a fierce determination to come out on top. We wanted to be victorious. We knew the type…_and the heroes were lifted above the crowd, where the sun created a spotlight on their glorious heads _

It's all rubbish now. What I would give to just rewind time and unravel our mistakes. It was the foolishness of blind visions, the wanting of what is not possible without a price. And you paid that price. And I paid that price. And we will forever pay that price.

Remember that summer, when we bathed in the salty sea, washing all traces of tears from our bodies? After the cold bath, we clambered up to the cottage and sipped lemonade out on the porch. We watched the wind blow speckled pebbles across the beach and toss the dark waves back and forth.

During the sunset that followed, we wandered around the cliffs above the cottage, picking wildflowers that danced in the breeze. Their petals were closing for the night that never came, but you found the flowers that blushed pink and glowed yellow. You wove them together into a crown fit for royalty, and you called me Queen of Summer. Sometimes, I insert the word "The" into that phrase, so it becomes "Queen of The Summer." For to me, it was The Summer. The Summer that blushed pink and glowed yellow.

When we got back to the cottage, our lips touched and parted in a slow dance, fusing and gasping. My crown fell off my head as we fell even deeper into love.

The next day, I hung it up on the hook by the window, so that the flowers could see the sunshine and feel the kisses of the wind.

But like all summers, that one ended. The blushing pink and glowing yellow crown of summer faded like all flowers do, and night returned. The stars became clear with frost, and we knew we must go back. But we didn't want to leave our haven of love, our little nook by the sea. We bid goodbye to the seals and the sea, the sky and the sand. And we left. You always said we'd return, that we'd have another summer of love spent by the sea.

But we didn't.

Like all stories, our story ended.

For this _is_ a story, the story of the most beautiful summer in the world. This is the story of a woman who fell deeply in love with her lover and confidant; the story of a man who braided a crown of blushing pink and glowing yellow flowers and then placed them on the Queen of The Summer's head. This is the story of a summer spent by the sea in a nook with only seals for company. This is the story of love.

But the summer ended, and I went back to feeling guilty whenever I laughed; I always saw the ghosts and shadows lurking behind the windows to the soul. Why should I be able to laugh when all others can do is cry?

I watched friends fall and evil surround us all. I buried friend after friend, until there were few of us left. And then it happened. I lost my laugh. And I lost it because of you.

I woke up one morning, the morning after Hallowe'en, to find I had cause to bury three more friends and lose a lover to prison. That lover was you. And you as good as killed them. I cried. I cried without ceasing—it was like a constant funeral, where the person cannot stop mourning. For in one day I lost my best friend, her husband, his friend, and you. How could I laugh now?

So I ask you again. Do you remember that summer? When you sit there on that island in the middle of a rough, roaring sea—so unlike our sea—do you remember that summer?

Because that summer is the only thing that allows me to smile. It is the only thing that keeps me going. That memory of the summer.

I went back last week to our cozy nook by the sea. I clambered down the rocky path to the cottage; this time, I had no hand to help me climb the big rocks and prevent me from twisting my ankle. I dipped my feet in the sea, feeling the saltiness cling to me. I heard the wind whisper to me, urging me to visit the meadow where you crowned me Queen.

So I did. I climbed the hill until I reached the top where the flowers blew and the wind danced. I arrived at the crest, breathless, and stared out across the expanse of the sea, to where I knew you were. And I cried. Last time I was here, I laughed. Amazing how things change. I saw the blushing pink and glowing yellow flowers, and my tears fell faster. I ran down the hill to the cottage in the nook, and fell onto our bed that we had shared. When my tears ceased, I wandered over to the window that overlooked our sea. And then I saw it. My crown. My crown of faded blushing pink and glowing yellow flowers. _I crown you the Queen of Summer._ I picked it up, not wanting it to crumble, and I placed it on my head. I closed my eyes and smelled the air as it whipped past me.

When I opened my eyes, you were there. You motioned me to come and bathe in the sea, and then watch the sunset from the meadow of the coronation. But then I blinked and you were gone. It was just a foolish dream.

The wind whipped my crown of flowers off my head, holding it just above my reach. But I didn't chase the taunting playmate. I watched as my flowers were carried out to sea, twirling and dipping so close to the water that I thought they might sink. But they didn't; they continued out across our sea, to where you waited. And I laughed.

Do you remember that summer? Because I—I will never forget.

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Please read and review.

Note: The woman telling the story is a fictional character of my own imagination. She is the girlfriend of Sirius Black, a school mate of Lily's. Her name? She doesn't have one. I think you will agree with me that in this story, she does not need one.

Slàinte mhath.  
Charlotte.


End file.
